


The Haunted Affair

by SierraDeCobre



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Gen, Ghosts, Halloween, Halloween challenge 2019, Haunted Houses, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-15 23:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21261290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraDeCobre/pseuds/SierraDeCobre
Summary: What was a simple mission ended up with one man down. Now it's up to Illya and Napoleon to complete it. No enemies on sight, no more obstacles than an abandoned church with a curse. Fortunately neither Napoleon or Illya believe in ghosts . Or do they?





	1. Act One: Who's talking about ghosts?

**Author's Note:**

> For LiveJournal 2019 MFU_Scrapbook Halloween Challenge  
On request, for blondie_54

|**Act One: Who’s talking about ghosts?**

"We still don't know why and how the mission failed. The only two people who might know about circumstances and other details are unlikely to help.” Mr. Waverly slid the files across the conference table for Napoleon to take a look. “Mr Corby is dead and Mr Kuryakin is not talking about it.”

“What does Dr Towers say about that? It’s been almost a month already.” Napoleon stared at the report without opening it. He had gone through the papers several times, searching for answers. So far, they could only speculate about the failed mission.

“It’s a concussion, the memory loss is temporary. He’s back to normal, so to speak.” Mr Waverly took off his glasses and leaned back in his chair. “That’s as far as Towers can go. Mr Kuryakin has been discharged from medical supervision and he’s ready to come back to work full time.”

Napoleon frowned, not quite satisfied with the news. Illya was too clever for doctors and therapists; he could be lying and no one would notice. “I’d like him to rest a bit more, assigning him to a light job or some paperwork, perhaps?”

“Mr Solo, I understand your concern, I feel the same way but the fact is that we just lost a man. We’re in no position to spare another to sick leave. If Medics says that Mr Kuryakin is ready for work, I need to comply and put him back full time.” Mr. Waverly’s voice was calm as he gave a vague smile. “I’m sure you will know how to handle the situation and I trust that you will keep me informed of Mr Kuryakin’s progress.”

Just as they had finished their talk, Illya entered the room, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a duffel bag in the other. He nodded to Mr Waverly before he took a seat next to Napoleon. He would not show his displeasure to see that the meeting had started without him. He knew they were just trying to spare him more stress, but their attitude was annoying nonetheless.

“I apologize, it seemed that there was some kind of misunderstanding with the exact hour of this meeting,” Illya took a sip of his coffee and took the files on the table for a quick look.

“There was no misunderstanding, I needed to sort out some details with Mr Solo. I’m sure he will fill you in on your way out.” Mr Waverly did not know Illya as well as Napoleon did but he could handle the Russian’s temperament with finesse. “As I told Mr Solo, I trust you will finally complete this mission, I need those papers on my desk by Monday. That gives you forty eight hours. Welcome back, Mr Kuryakin.”

Illya turned to Napoleon, who smiled diplomatically. “Thank you, sir. Napoleon has also been assigned to the case, I gather.”

“Yes, he has indeed,” Napoleon said, getting up.

“Mr. Kuryakin, I agree to assign you back to the case, it’s only fair. However, this is a two people work, I’m sure that you understand.” Mr Waverly addressed both men with his unreadable facade. “Gentlemen, this was supposed to be a rather simple case. I expect results without any more surprises.”

Napoleon signed for Illya to follow him outside. He had the impression that the Russian wanted to talk, or interrogate him more likely. They could have that conversation on the way.

“You came early.” Illya got in the car and faced Napoleon with an inquisitive look. “You weren’t planning to go there without me, were you?”

“Illya-”

“Napoleon, we just talked about that. I’m okay, the doctor said I’m okay, my therapist discharged me… But I’m sure you know all that already.” Illya leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “You think I wouldn’t find out that you have been talking to Dr Towers every day?”

Napoleon started the engine and adjusted the rear mirror. Illya was back to his own self, and he could stop worrying about him. “You should be grateful for having such a good friend as me. I’m glad that you’re doing better, but perhaps you'd like to take a long vacation, what do you think? Why don’t you apply for a long leave, say four weeks?” Napoleon would insist on that number of days, even if Illya found the idea insane.

"Another entire month off? I've wasted enough time already. We need to solve this case once and for all."

"It could be a local case, something less… stressful?"

"Napoleon!"

“Okay, don’t mind me." He cleared his throat, turning back to the case. “You’re still in the case… Ah, What’s in the bag? Are you planning to spend the night in that place?”

Illya smirked. The mission should have been completed in half a day but instead, it had turned out to be a mysterious incident that lasted almost two days without any results and one casualty. “It’s just the usual equipment for road trip missions.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.

Napoleon took a purposeful breath before asking the next question. “I know your memory is still foggy about it but I need to know as much as you remember. So, tell me, what do you think that happened in that church?”  
.  
Illya tensed a little, trying not to look upset. It was a fair question and he shouldn’t take it personally. Reports were standard procedure, even if he did not remember much at the moment.

“Yes, it’s still…foggy. I remember taking the case and asking James Corby to come with me.” There was more silence, with his eyes on the road, and his mind lost in thoughts about all the things he could not remember.

“Illya, it’s not your fault. Whatever happened to Jim, it was an accident.” That was a stupid think to say. Suicide was not an accident, although the circumstances were still a little shady. Napoleon could not be sure of what could have driven agent Corby to such a fatal decision. Questions would remain unanswered and perhaps it would be better that way, he thought as he saw the landscape changing gradually into more trees and fewer houses. “How far is the church?”

Illya welcomed the change of subject, fearing that the conversation would fall into a dead end, just like about every time they talked about this. “You need to take the second exit on the right. That’s about… ten miles in that direction."

They were still a few minutes away when the first towers of brick and stone appeared above the trees. Illya gasped, before lowering his eyes to the map.

Napoleon noticed that, as they crossed the iron gates and drove through the graveyard. "Anything yet?" He spoke casually, resolved not to let the slightest hint from Illya fade away.

The Russian only took a breath. "That's the tower… where Corby-" he shut his eyes for a second, canceling any mental image of what he had witnessed that fatal night. "The main entrance is around the garden."

There was no point in elaborating on that. Napoleon had read that part of the report and seen pictures from their CI unit. For some unknown reason, agent Corby had chosen that mission to put an end to his life and although Napoleon was sorry for him, he could not help but being a little resentful too. Poor Illya had been there, witnessing Corby’s last minute decision and getting hurt somehow. By far, that must have been the worst mission that anyone could take.

"You may want to leave your car here." Illya pointed at the path near the gates. "We can walk."

That was a strange suggestion since there was plenty of space for parking right in front of the main door. “Do you think that the graveyard residents will protest if I park the car in front?”

“That’s not funny,” Illya snapped, showing his disapproval of Napoleon’s ill timed joke. “Park the car wherever you want to. Let’s get done with this.” Even when he was in complete control there still was an uneasy feeling about the lost hours he had spent in that place.

Napoleon rolled his eyes, trying to remember that he had volunteered for the job. He only wanted to help Illya cope with whatever he and Corby had experienced inside of that church. As they got closer, Napoleon could feel some of the somber atmosphere; the old building, the graves, the cold wind. He imagined that all these elements could have played a number in Corby’s head but Illya was not the superstitious type. His practical mind protected him from getting scared of basically everything and yet, he looked as if something that had happened right there made him nervous.

Napoleon stopped the car and put the keys in his pocket. “Are you sure you want to come along? I’m sure I can find the papers, I read the reports.” He had said that before, just as a formality. He knew that Illya would never step back in a mission, not voluntarily.

“It was my case, my mission… I know where to find those papers.” Illya was scared, even when he was not capable of admitting it. That was the only reason he had not protested that much when Napoleon was assigned to this too. He got out of the car and took the duffel bag from the back seat. He stood there for a moment, watching carefully every window in the upper levels.

Napoleon walked around, looking at the tombstones. They were old and few, barely making a big impression of a graveyard. “What’s the story of this place? I mean, the church is nice, the graveyard could get a little more attention but the location is kind of far from ah, everywhere. Why would anyone build a church in the middle of nowhere?” Napoleon turned around, shaking his head. “No wonder they just abandoned the whole idea.”

Illya nodded, looking down before getting closer to the graveyard. “The people buried here came before the church. They’re mostly suicide victims and children who died before they could be baptized. It’s not holy ground as you see.” He smiled sadly as he looked at the building. “The county tried to achieve some kind of closure by erecting a church, but as you said, it’s too far; the nearest town is almost one hour away. They stopped using the church after two months, and that was fifteen years ago. Stories have built up around it, some people believe that the unconsecrated souls haunt the place. There have been unsolved accidents, deadly, in most of the cases. ” A sudden thought crossed his mind and he shook his head.

“What is it? Did something ring a bell?” Napoleon tilted his head, hoping that talking about this would help with Illya’s memory loss.

“No, it’s just that this is a popular place for committing suicide. At least five people have jumped from those towers in the last two years… Well, six, with Corby…”

“Oh, but that could be just a coincidence; mentally unstable people always look for this kind of places. You won’t blame those incidents on something supernatural, will you?” Napoleon had been Illya’s partner for a couple of years now. He could not say that he knew the Russian that well, but so far, he seemed well centered and practical in every way. “I have to admit that this place looks creepy but it’s not that bad.”

“Who’s talking about ghosts? I’m just repeating what seems to be relevant about this place. I don’t believe in ghosts, by the way. Everything must have a logical explanation. Always.” Illya was not trying to turn the conversation into a discussion of supernatural occurrences. They needed to keep focused on what was really important. “Ghost stories have nothing to do with our mission so, can we just go on?”

“Okay, I’ll go first,” said Napoleon, suspecting that that was what his partner wanted. He would find time to ask questions later on, providing that Illya would not dodge them. It was a little annoying, though; he was not used to seeing his partner so hesitant. Napoleon sighed deeply while staring at the massive oak doors. It was a pity that the church was not functioning anymore. Only the reliefs on the door were works of art and Napoleon imagined how much effort and care those artisans most have put into them. Suddenly, something caught his attention. “Funny,” he said, frowning as he leaned forward to examine the lock closely. “It’s melted. Someone did it.”

“Yes, the doors are completely blocked inside,” Illya said matter-of-factly. Then, he pointed at the bushes. “There is a tunnel and a ladder around the corner.”

Napoleon stared at him rather suspiciously. “Have you just remembered that? Is your memory coming back?”

“Let’s say that I didn’t forget that detail, more likely.” Illya led them to the improvised entrance. “The tunnel is just part of the sewage system, but people have used it for years to get into the church.”

“You could have shared that information before don’t you think?” Napoleon took out his flashlight and entered the tunnel. Illya guided him through several branches of brick and pipes until they reached the ladder, standing below an opening on the roof. Napoleon pointed with the flashlight. “I’ll go first, okay?”

There was no objection from Illya. He kept his own flashlight aiming at the fork of tunnels behind them. The light could not reach far and the rest of the way looked like a big black void. “Hurry up. Please.” Illya was not sure why but the thought of staying there on his own even for thirty seconds terrified him.

Napoleon came into a huge nave, framed with stained glass windows that reflected the last rays of light. He climbed to the marble floor that, even darkened by decades of dust, still kept some distinctive beauty. One could not help but wonder why they had put so much effort into a place just to waste it away shortly after that. Napoleon dusted his suit, waiting for Illya to join him. “I still can’t understand how those papers ended up in this place.”

“Mr. Dalton, our man in Maine was on his way to send them to New York HQ. Apparently, he noticed he was being followed when he passed by this church.” Illya accepted Napoleon’s hand to come up. “Unfortunately, he had an accident and died. His body was found near the spiral staircase over there.” Illya crossed the nave and stopped in front of the stairs, sealed with yellow boundary tape. “Now, everything we can say about the accident is merely a supposition. Mr Dalton fell, jumped or was pushed after he hid the papers.”

“After? Is that a supposition too?” Napoleon asked, assessing the dimensions of the place. “Tell me that you know where those papers are. I don’t think we have time to explore this building.”

“I have an idea of where Dalton put them…” Illya looked at the spiral stairs and the No trespassing tape preventing unwanted visitors from going up to the next level. “The choir section. Dalton was a music aficionado. If he had time to think where to leave the papers, that is the place."

“Very well then,” said Napoleon, tearing off the tape. “It was too much to expect that the tape was there to protect the crime scene, I gather.” The damaged stairs seemed to be ready for the next accident to happen. Sadly, there was no time to come back later with special gear to climb from one floor to the next. “Be careful, we can’t afford more injured agents,” he said before going up first.

It might have sounded like a joke, but there was nothing to laugh about in the condition of the steps. No wonder someone had put up the warning signs for clandestine visitors. Illya climbed, turning his head every time something cracked under his feet. For the first time since the accident he was getting familiar feelings about his previous visit. None of them were pleasant at all.

"Napoleon? We need to speed up. This place is not saf-." The last word was interrupted by a scream. At first, he did not know what had happened. His feet lost the ground and Illya just rolled down the stairs. Only his trained reflexes saved him from broken bones or worse.

Napoleon felt that he was flying downstairs as he ran after Illya but he had time to catch his breath when he saw his friend already getting up. “Illya, are you okay?” He panted, turning to see the tract of stairs they had just covered. “That was a good fall. Now we know the reason for that warning tape.”

“I’m fine, the staircase is too narrow to cause any serious damage, but I didn’t fall, well, I didn’t trip on anything.” Illya kept his eyes on the stairs, panting as well. He was a little pale, but the dim light masked his inner apprehension. “I think I was pushed. I know that’s insane but that’s what I felt; a hand on my chest, pushing me backwards.”

“There's no one here but us. I understand that you may feel a little confused after a fall like that but, an invisible hand, Illya? I thought you were as skeptical as I am.” He smiled, turning back to the stairs. “We’ve got to get up there, just be careful where you put your feet.” .

Both men looked at each other, knowing that starting a discussion about what was real and what was not was rather useless. This was the second attempt to complete this mission and there was no room for failure. Illya swallowed his pride and followed his partner without hesitation. It was not like him to be scared of shadows or noises. Whatever had happened in that place must have a logical explanation.

The stairs took them to the choir section. This was all wooden, with benches and an old pipe organ that must have seen better days. Illya stopped in the middle of the room, putting the duffel bag on the floor. He had seen the multicolor reflection of the stained glass window at least once before. This was a place that could not be forgotten easily; this was the right place. Napoleon was quiet at first but time was shortening and they still needed to find the papers.

“Are bells ringing now? Do you remember where the papers were?”

“I do remember,” Illya grinned, feeling that things were going well for once. “There, with the music sheets.” He walked to the shelves on the wall. “I was here, reading some scores and I just found the files… here.” Illya was about to grab a bunch of papers when he was interrupted by a thud.

“It came from the first floor,” Napoleon whispered, taking his gun and peeping from the balcony. “Stay here and collect the files, I’ll take care of the visitor.”

Illya turned and Napoleon was gone. He had just left him there, alone. An uneasy feeling crawled in the back of his head. “Napoleon, wait!” He hissed, knowing that he could not risk a shout and reveal their presence to whomever was down there. Reluctantly, he went back to his task, gathering papers in their files to put them in an old portfolio. He reckoned that Napoleon would take care of everything outside while he finished here. Another noise made him turn his head again and when he went back to the papers they were scattered on the floor. How had this happened? He had not touched the portfolio at all, but overthinking about this would lead him nowhere. “Get done with this,” he sighed, leaving his flashlight on a chair before crouching down to collect the papers one more time.

No more than five minutes had passed when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Illya was more focused on gathering the papers than on turning around. “Did you chase the people away? They must have thought that you were a ghost.” Illya chuckled as he pictured the scene in his head. “So, I think we have all the papers here.” At this point, he realized that something was off. Illya felt Napoleon standing at the door but he was not moving or talking. A sudden cold breeze came from behind but Illya did not dare to look. His skin crawled and his mind was blurred with images that he had forgotten. He heard the boards of the floor creak under someone’s feet, but he did not wait for it to touch him. Moving as fast as he could, Illya crawled to the armoire where they kept the music stands and locked himself in. Through the cracks, he could see the dimming daylight reflecting in the stained glass window. Soon, it would be night and he could only think of his flashlight on a chair, a few feet from him. He cursed in silence while the footsteps came to a stop in front of his hiding place. Looking down, he had a good look of the stranger’s shoes.

_Military boots!_ Illya covered his mouth with both hands to suppress a scream. They had found him!

_No!_ That was a long time ago, in another place… the place where his nightmares began.

_Focus now. Nothing is real..._

Illya held his breath while he watched the shadow pacing back and forth. It looked human but there was nothing human in the way it moved or breathed. Slowly, Illya cocked his pistol, without minding how much noise he made. The creature must know he was there anyway.  
The door and windows shut abruptly, leaving the place in darkness. Cold sweat beaded Illya’s forehead while he made an attempt to put his ideas in order. So far, he only wanted to scream.

_Where are you, Napoleon…? This could be a good time for you to show up._

_tbc_


	2. Act Two: I Think I Saw A Ghost

**Act two: ** ** _I think I saw a ghost_ **

Nothing moved in the graveyard. The wind had stopped and everything was quiet, but for Napoleon it only meant that the weather was changing. It would probably rain later on. He would have loved to be on the road by then. In the meantime, he had a perimeter to secure, The noises he heard before must have been from wild animals, cats or birds. If THRUSH had sent anyone to recover the papers, Napoleon would have seen them already. He was letting Illya’s stories about the church and graveyard tamper with him. Ghosts did not exist, and this place was not cursed, noises could be easily justified. 

A scream disturbed the peaceful scene, sending Napoleon in frantic race back to the church.

_ Who had screamed?  _ His own voice surprised him. Illya kept his eyes on the stained glass window and the colors that it projected on his face. His heart struggled to keep a steady pace while tendrils of terror curled inside. Inevitably, his mind travelled into the darkest corners of his memories, detonations hit the walls of his hiding place and footsteps ran on cobblestone  _ . I didn’t mean to leave, I waited, just as you told me…  _ The cacophony was deafening but it kept going mercilessly.

Napoleon climbed the steps three at a time. He stormed, gun in hand, into the choir room. Other than Illya not being there, the place was just as Napoleon had left it. “Illya? Where are you?” Illya would not leave without telling him first, or would he? The Russian’s actions were a little peculiar lately, more than usual, at least. The last month had been especially stressful for Illya; and it was always hard to tell what was going through his head.

“Illya, where are you? Can you answer me?” 

Napoleon checked the window as a possible exit, but it was locked. If Illya had snapped in any way, it was a relief that he did not have a chance to jump out or something. “Illya, answer me, please,” he turned to the closet, the only place he had left unchecked. He kept his gun in one hand as he forced the door with the other. 

Napoleon’s voice was not enough to convince Illya to come out. The noise of battle stopped abruptly, leaving him immersed in the deepest silence. It lasted only seconds but for Illya it was like hours. Doors opening unexpectedly sent him backwards to hit his head on the wall.

“Ah!” 

Napoleon gasped, half a second before realizing that it was Illya in the closet. The relief of seeing him alive and well did not last long, as the logical question came to mind. “What the hell are you doing there?” He put his gun away and offered him his hand. “Illya? Didn’t you hear me calling?... Are you okay?” 

The Russian stood up on his own, looking around warily. He walked like a man who had just crawled out of a cave and was still adjusting to natural light.. “What took you so long? Couldn’t you call me or something?” He rubbed his eyes, as though wiping off the disturbing visions and thoughts.

“I did call-” He took a deep breath. “Never mind… Are you okay? What happened?” 

“I’m okay,” Illya reached for his flashlight, staring at the door. The second question was too hard to answer.

Napoleon chose to ignore Illya’s hesitation; they had spent more time than expected in that church. Although he felt immune to superstition and fantasies, he wanted to put some distance between them and the odd vibes he kept catching from this place. “Do you have the papers? We can go now.”

Illya welcomed his friend’s practical attitude. He was ready to leave right away. “The papers, yes… I was picking them up. I’m almost d-” Illya turned around. The scattered papers were gone, and everything looked in order. “Where is the portfolio? Did you take it?” He turned around over and over again. 

"What portfolio? Are you okay? What were you doing in that closet?" Napoleon stared at Illya with concern.

"Stop asking that question!" He pointed at Napoleon with his flashlight. "Everything is perfectly okay, okay?"

"Okay," he said, holding his hands up. "Don't shoot, I'm here to help. I need to ask this, please don't get mad."

"What?" Illya rolled his eyes and stopped turning things upside down.

"Are you sure the papers were here?” Napoleon examined the music books in the shelves. “Perhaps you just thought you saw them.”

“So am I imagining things now? Didn’t you see papers? I showed them to you!” Illya lashed at him with a furious glare.

“I only saw the pile of sheet music that you pointed at. “ Napoleon’s voice was calm; he did not see the point of starting an argument. They needed to get out of there as soon as possible. “I’ll ask you again… Do you have the papers or not?”

Again the question that he could not answer. Perhaps telling the truth of what just happened would be enough. But then again, where to start? The ghost? The hallucinations?  _ We should ask the ghost with army boots?  _ Illya shook his head, seeking for a more credible story but he found none. “I don’t know… I heard something and I took cover… I had to,” he was angry and confused. His story sounded crazy just as it was; bringing up apparitions would not help to make it better. “Let’s move on, the papers can’t be far.”

“Sure,” Napoleon raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly. He wondered if Illya and Corby had faced the same difficulties in their previous mission. He felt that two more hours and he would be ready to believe in the fantastic tales about this place. “Do you have any idea of where we can look? It’s a big church.” He walked to the balcony to look down at the main nave below. “I’m sorry, Illya. I should have stayed here and help you with those papers. I don’t know why I went out.” 

Illya followed him, scrutinizing the place carefully. Somehow, he still hoped to find THRUSH behind all this. “Did you see anyone outside?”

"Only a dog… at least that’s what I thought I saw in the graveyard.”

“You thought? Now that is unsettling.” His hopes for a logical explanation were fading fast. 

Slamming doors on the first floor took Illya by surprise. Normally, he was not the kind to jump at unexpected noises, but lately he was not like himself all. It took him a moment to come up with a logical explanation. "The wind?" He pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to calm himself down.

Another slam and Napoleon took out his pistol. "Or a very clumsy thief." 

They both ran downstairs and towards the altar, guessing the noise came from the sacristy. They stopped in front of the open door.

“That door was closed when we arrived,” said Napoleon, walking inside the sacristy.

“Napoleon, don’t,” Illya stepped forward.

Now this was getting annoying, thought Napoleon turning to look at his partner. “Why, Illya? What’s going on with you? If you have something to say, this is a good moment to speak up.” He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. “First of all, why were you hiding in that closet?”

Illya shook his head, still hesitant to say anything. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“I think I saw a ghost,” he said it in one breath.

“Ghosts don’t exist. You said it yourself.” Napoleon narrowed his eyes. “Why do you say it was a ghost? Perhaps it was an agent from THRUSH.”

“No, you don’t understand. When that thing entered everything changed… it felt different, cold, freezing.”

There was something wrong with Illya but Napoleon could not deal with that and the mission at the same time. “Do you want to go back to HQ empty handed, again? Whatever you saw up there was in your head, you know that. Believe me, there are no ghosts, everything has a perfect explanation. I promise.”

“Don’t talk to me as if I were a little boy. I saw… well, I didn’t see anything specifically. It moved around, walking, but…” Illya rubbed the back of his neck, realizing that he was making no sense. “I know what I saw.”

Napoleon sighed, realizing that time was ticking. Illya’s problems would have to wait till they were back in the office after the case was closed. “Listen, you have to trust me on this. We’ll talk later but now we need to find those papers. If you don’t want to come with me, you can wait here.”

Illya bit his lower lip, leaving hesitation aside. “No, I’m coming with you. It makes no sense to split at this point.” He took his pistol and nodded for Napoleon to go first.

The sacristy must have seen better days; that was Napoleon’s first impression. Through semi darkness he could see that the walls still retained some of the original painting. He was not sure if olive green was standard color for sacristies but it suited the current state of the office. “Interesting,” he smirked at the graffiti on the walls. “Nothing is sacred anymore, right?” 

Illya felt cold as soon as he came in. The small window above them did not help to bring much light, but it was enough to make out the armoire in one corner and the desk right in front of the door. The rest of the furniture was in pieces, possibly a victim to vandals. There were also all kinds of drawings on the walls, from modest works of art to scary symbols of satanic nature. “Sacred? No.” Perhaps at another time, he would study the real meaning of the drawings. He had a scientific mind, analyzing things was what he did for fun. “I don’t see the papers here.” Illya shuddered, feeling the cold crawling under his skin and blurring his thoughts. Had he been on his own, he would have probably stepped out of that church already. 

“Well, they have to be somewhere,” said Napoleon, aiming his flashlight randomly at the dark. “Someone has been making noises, I heard them, that’s a fact… and perhaps they took the papers while you were…” He stopped, not wanting to make an issue out of Illya’s hiding in the closet. Although that still bothered him, Napoleon would not give the incident more importance than necessary. 

Illya clenched his jaw as he turned to his friend. “You blame me for losing the papers, don’t you?” He did believe that himself, there was no other explanation. “Just say it, you think I’m a coward.”

“Illya, I’ll never say that. You’re not a coward. Showing fear only means that you’re human. Something happened up there, and I believe you when you say that you saw a ghost… and you hid in the closet.”

“I wasn’t hiding! … All right, I was but-” his eyes shifted from one corner to the next. “This is maddening,.. It happened before. It’s this place, Napoleon. There is something very wrong with this place.”

“Before? Is your memory coming back? Are you remembering what happened that night?” Napoleon put his flashlight down, waiting for Illya’s response.

The Russian was not paying attention anymore; he kept his eyes on the darkness, seeing the shadows going in circles around them. Underneath the silence, a dull sound of steps marching towards them made his heart pound hard in his chest.. Breathing or talking, that was the choice because at the moment, Illya could not do both. “Do you hear that? Footsteps! Someone's coming.” Illya turned to the door, expecting to see an army of ghosts coming in.

Napoleon, who was too concerned watching Illya, did not pay attention to the noise or the shadows. “It’s probably the rain,” said he, resting his hand on the Russian’s shoulder. “Take deep breaths, do you want to sit down?”

The noise was now in constant crescendo, without giving Illya any truce. “It’s not the rain, I tell you!” He leaned on the wall, covering his ears with his hands. “Why is so cold in here?” The noise was now crawling inside the walls. “It’s not the rain! It’s not thunder! It’s the army, shooting at the crowd, killing them all!” Thunder hit the walls like an explosion. Illya shut his eyes and leaned against the wall. 

Napoleon rushed to his side, crouching down to grab his friend’s shoulders. “Illya?” He kept his voice calm, hiding the panic that was building inside. He wondered what was going on in Illya’s head. He was not used to seeing him like this, something was playing with them and he was sure it was not a ghost.. “It’s only thunder and rain. Come on, we need to go on. ”

“No! I have to stay here! ” Illya looked at him, shaking and panting. “He needs to find me-”

“He? Who?!”

“My brother!” 

Almost immediately, the door slammed shut.

_ TBC _


	3. Act Three: It's You And Your Vivid Imagination

**Act three: ** ** _It’s you, and your vivid imagination_ ** .

“No, I’m sorry, I refuse to believe that.” Napoleon examined the door thoroughly, looking for locks or hidden mechanisms. “Ghosts don’t exist, it’s not possible.” He stopped for one moment to look at Illya. The Russian had not move from his corner; sitting on the floor, hugging his knees against his chest. He looked tired and confused about everything that was happening; Napoleon was ready to take him out of there, he was ready to call off the mission. A bunch of papers was not worth the risk. 

“You must think I’m going crazy,” Illya finally spoke. “But I can’t find another explanation for what’s going on… Why not ghosts?”

Napoleon was not going to fight Illya. There would be time for discussions when they returned to the office. For now, he was satisfied to see Illya more focused and he intended to keep him that way.

“So, you have a brother?”

Illya lifted his head and nodded slowly. “‘Had’ a brother… and a mother and a father… It’s all in my files. Didn’t you read it when they transferred me to UNCLE? I thought you read the files of every new agent.”

“I only read the files of those agents that make me feel suspicious.” He climbed on a chair to look through the small window above the door. “You were okay, like an open book.” He turned to see the look of disbelief on Illya’s eyes. He smiled and resumed his task of looking for possible points of escape. “Well, maybe you’re not, but no, I didn’t read your files... So, you had a brother, who was the oldest?”

“He was 10 years older than me.” Now it was Illya’s turn to smile. “I was unexpected… welcomed but unexpected…” He had not talked about his parents since he left his native country. What a strange sortilege had come upon him to finally face that page of the story of his life. “My parents were musicians; college teachers in Kiev.”

“Musician parents, somehow that doesn’t surprise me…” said Napoleon, making a pause in his task. They had been partners for a couple of years now but this was the first time he had learned something about Illya. “But tell me, why do you say that your brother has found you?”

"I said that, didn't I?" Illya smiled, exhausted from thinking so much. "We were in Kiev one afternoon, then we got separated."

A long pause followed that remark. Napoleon waited a prudential time to ask again. "You got separated, and?"

"That's it, I got lost… I was six and stupid."

"That's hard to believe but okay, that's your story… but he found you eventually."

"No. I never saw my brother alive again."

Napoleon leaned on the desk, arms crossed over his chest. "I'm sorry. How did that happen?"

He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "My brother joined a subversive movement shortly after my parents disappeared. When they announced a manifestation in Kiev, he knew he had to be there. He took advantage of Baba being at work to get us on the bus to the city. He wanted to join the march so much that he had to take me with him… he was only 16… I remember all those people with banners in the square. I could barely see anything else, and then… the shots, so many shots.” He wiped a few tears with determination and breathed deeply. “People started falling in front of us, I didn’t know what was going on, but squeezed by brother’s hand so hard. I begged him to stay with me but he had to run… I remember that he left me in the alley, behind some cardboard boxes, and told me not to move until he came back for me… By midnight, I knew he was not coming back. I don’t remember what happened next but they say that I was on my own in Kiev for a couple of days before the police found me. They put me in a reorientation program…”

It took Napoleon a couple of minutes to visualise the scene and how it must have affected a young boy. "Your parents, they disappeared, how?"

“Have you ever heard about Stalin’s purges?” He kept his eyes fixed on the darkness.

Napoleon rubbed his temple, convinced that he should have stopped asking questions. “I'm really sorry… did they take your brother too?"

“No, he was shot.” That came as a matter of fact, followed by a long pause. 

“Illya-”

“Please, don’t… That happened a long time ago, I’m okay.”

Clearly, he was not, but Napoleon could only respect his silence. He returned to his fruitless search, and for a long time none of them said a word. Napoleon had to admit that he was not any closer to finding a way out. 

The uncomfortable silence was interrupted by scratches on the walls. Illya gasped, aiming his flashlight at the darkest corners. Although there was nothing tangible, he was sure that they were not alone. His pulse ramped up at the same time that he repeated to himself, it’s nothing, nothing... 

"Ghosts don't travel, they prefer to stay in the place they died.” 

Illya did not move, but focused on Napoleon’s reassuring attitude. "I thought you said that you don't believe in ghosts." His voice was shaky as he struggled to keep control.

"And I don't. I'm just quoting things I read when I was a child. Let's just say, for the sake of discussion, that there's an actual ghost in the church. It should be one of those souls from the graveyard seeking revenge for not being consecrated… or one of the people who committed suicide in this building, right?"

Illya rubbed his face with his hands as he began to reach his breaking point. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but I haven’t stopped thinking of my brother since I entered this place. I close my eyes and I see him, back in the square, looking for me...and what about Corby? He kept telling me that his father was calling him.”

"Corby's father? … He died in the line of duty when Corby was seven," Napoleon recalled. "Yes, I did read his files," he explained before Illya could say anything. “Do you think Corby’s father told him to take his own life?”

“I don’t know, I’m not sure about anything anymore.” Illya stood up and turned around in a circle. “Look at us. We’re trapped here. How? The door locked itself from outside?” 

“Illya, I know that it’s frustrating to realize that there are many things that your quantum mechanics can’t solve.” Napoleon pushed the walls and checked the shelves. “Perhaps you’re not as skeptical as you thought you were. Me? I just believe what I can see, and so far, I’m not impressed. I think this is a big prank from our friends from THRUSH… something in the air, hallucinogenic gas.” 

“That's your theory? I thought that about Corby but I’m tired of trying to find a logical explanation to all of this. I don’t know what is going on here… nothing fits in place and strange things keep happening.” As in cue, another loud blow shook the walls. “See?! You heard that? You can’t pretend that there is a real explanation for that or this door… We’re still locked in here!” He smashed his fist against the door and it opened wide. 

Illya stepped backwards and almost fell. 

“You did it! You actually opened the damn door,” Napoleon chuckled, patting him on the back.

“No, wait… I didn’t do it,” He grabbed his friend's arm. “Don’t go, it’s not safe.”

“Listen, you stubborn Russian, there’s nothing out there. It’s you, and your vivid imagination. I don’t know what happened to you and Corby when you were here the first time but it’s not going to happen again, do you hear me?” He waited a moment for his words to sink in Illya's mind. “Say it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, … Whatever you say,” Illya did not have any arguments to contest Napoleon’s theory, no matter how weak it was. Struggling to keep his head clear, he took a deep breath. “What are you going to do? The papers, we still don’t have them.” 

“I know and I have a theory about where they must be.” Napoleon did not want to upset his friend more than he already was but he would not lie to him. “I’m going back to the choir room. I’m almost sure that the portfolio never left that room.”

Illya bit his lips. "I misplaced them? You think that somehow my head is a mess and I have been doing all this on my own, right? I’m getting crazy, right?!”

“Illya, I don’t have time to fight with you. I need to get those papers. If I’m wrong, I’ll apologize later…. For that and for what I’m about to do…” 

Napoleon pushed Illya and ran outside. He closed the door behind him and locked it. Hopefully when he came back, Illya would have come to his senses and they could finally go back to New York… with the old damn papers.

“No! No!” Illya’s voice was frantic while he hit and kicked the door. “Napoleon, let me out! You don’t understand!”

“Oh, I think I do,” he said to himself as he walked to the stairs at the other side of the altar. He felt that he was being watched but he dismissed the feeling right away. They had stayed too long in the church and whatever was affecting Illya was getting him too. He had just started to climb when he heard some steps climbing ahead of him. “Who’s there?” He ran upstairs with his gun ready. Just at the end, something held his heel, making him trip and fall backwards. He lifted his head for a second only to see a shadow hovering over him. Then, everything faded to black.

_TBC_


	4. Act Four: For Whom The Bells Toll

**Act Four: ** ** _For Whom the Bells Toll_ **

“Napoleon? Napoleon, that’s not funny!!” Illya connected two blows on the door but it did not even move. That friend of his would have a piece of his mind as soon as he could get out of there. They should be on their way back to New York but he was locked in that room just because Napoleon did not trust him. He took his pen and tried to open a channel, any channel. The reception failed to work. “Where are you, damn it!” 

He pressed his ear against the door but Napoleon was already gone. There was only a distant noise like footsteps marching outside, but Illya was not sure if that was just his overloaded imagination. Talking about his childhood always opened wounds that were hard to heal. He could not lose his mind right now, he needed to get out of this church. Illya shook his head, trying to distract his mind from the hallucinations that kept pushing forward. Suddenly, the scratching on the walls intensified and Illya’s flashlight was not enough to reassure him that he was alone. “Ghosts don’t exist. Ghosts don’t exist… Ghosts don’t exist!” he screamed. However, finding the strength to fight was hard when fear was all he could reach in his heart. As the footsteps approached, the room got colder.

Logic told him that he was alone, but logic had nothing to do with what had been happening since he arrived. Illya stepped backwards, with his eyes fixed on the line of light under the door. There were shadows of people walking, getting closer, scratching the door. 

The Russian held his breath, moving forward, one step at a time. “Napoleon? Is it you?” 

Suddenly, there was a violent banging on the door that echoed all around. Illya got his pistol and watched as l the door opened slowly. His skin crawled as he realized that no one was there but he stepped outside without hesitation. Holding his flashlight above his pistol, Illya moved to the staircase, hoping to find Napoleon somewhere near. He was considering going outside when a piece of paper on the floor caught his attention. It was the first page of Dalton’s files and next to it was the second page, then the third and then the rest, forming a trail up the spiral staircase.

It had to be a trap, Illya thought, but there was nothing else he could do. If Napoleon was not up there, at least, he could pick up the papers before leaving the church.

“Napoleon? Are you up there?” Illya’s voice was firm but cautious while he began to collect the papers. He could not go back to New York without Napoleon, that was not even a possibility. Illya was too busy collecting the sheets of paper to notice that he was arriving to the bell tower, the same place where he had seen Corby for the last time. The tower was in ruins, with important structural damage, but even when his head told him to leave, he felt compelled to walk to the ledge. Piling the papers on a corner, Illya circled the bell, wanting to be where it had happened. Slowly, he stood over the ledge and looked down. There was no particular reason, he just needed to be there.

. 

Napoleon wrinkled his nose when raindrops hit his face. His eyes were still closed while he came to slowly. Now, a little more awake, he could figure out that he was not only laying on the ground, he was outdoors, and it was raining. He rolled over, stretching his aching muscles, reminding himself that he had just fallen down a staircase. 

A little more alert and sight more used to darkness, Napoleon recognized the tombstones surrounding him. He was back in the graveyard with no idea of how that could have happened. Standing up and rearranging his suit, he squinted at the only light in the church. It came from the tower, where a familiar figure sent him into an alarm mode. “Illya, for Goodness’ sake. What are you doing up there?” Napoleon said to himself, adjusting the collar of his jacket, before heading back to the church. 

The day was over and to darkness, he had to add a persistent rain. He moved faster to get out of the muddy path. He also felt someone watching him from a distance. Napoleon turned to look over his shoulder, while reaching for his gun. In the dark, it was hard to tell a man from a tree, until the figure moved erratically. By the time Napoleon saw it charging towards him in four legs, he had it almost on him. A huge Rottweiler darted over him, leaving little margin of reaction. Napoleon beat a retreat, putting enough distance between them to give himself a chance for a clean shot. The dog twisted its direction and dodged the bullet. At the same time, another dog jumped out of nowhere. Blindsided, Napoleon tripped on a root and hit the ground. The gun flew from his hand. There was no time to assess the situation when two sets of sharp fangs were about to maul every moving thing within their reach. Rolling on his back, Napoleon caught the first dog in the air. He folded his knees to catapult the beast several feet away. Without a moment to lose, he crawled, groping in the dark for his pistol. He knew that this could be his last move before being devoured, so he did not even react when sharp teeth reached for his ankle. In the final struggle, Napoleon found his pistol and shot at the dark several times.Two pair of yellow eyes glowed with the detonations and then, everything went quiet. 

It felt like a dream, Illya told himself, a dream from which he could not wake up. The graveyard below had disappeared and in its place, Illya saw the square, stained with blood and rain, where he had lost sight of his brother. The scene reminded him of the paintings in the exhibitions his father used to take him to. Did he know it was real blood? Did he ever cry? It was a long time ago, he could not remember.

Suddenly, the bell began to toll midnight.

Napoleon stood up, his gun still trained in the dogs, just in case they were still alive. He would not have been surprised if they had risen after death. The sound of the bell interrupted his line of thought and made him turn to see Illya, standing on the ledge. He cursed and limped toward the tunnels.

Trapped. Illya felt the walls of darkness caging him, but he was not afraid anymore. He did not need a haunted place to see ghosts or be tormented by demons. He had learned to live with fear and guilt a long time ago; perhaps for too long, perhaps this was a good moment to let it go...

The tunnels started to shudder the moment Napoleon set foot in them. He was too busy finding the ladder to the main nave to care much about a mild earthquake, though. Seeing Illya on the bell tower was disturbing enough. Who knew what was in that stubborn mind of his. Turning to his right, turning to his left and ahead on the next corner. Although Napoleon knew where he was going to, this swarm of tunnels felt endless. 

Everything trembled as Napoleon climbed the stairs and ran down the altar with a swollen ankle. At this point, he wondered what kind of earthquake would last so long or if the building would withstand it at all. It might be the constant oscillatory movement or pain in the ankle that played with his mind, but he thought he saw someone coming behind him as he climbed the old spiral staircase. He didn't turn to see what it was until he reached the last step and only found dust swirling in the air. For some reason, Napoleon was glad to believe that an earthquake had really happened and that the shadows were only a product of his imagination. Places like this did not help keep a practical mind.

Pieces of plaster falling down and the walls threatening with crumbling over Illya were not enough to take him out of his trance. He did not even seem to feel the ledge cracking under his feet. He kept his eyes closed while his mind traveled somewhere else. Slowly, Illya moved forward.

"Illya, what are you doing?" Napoleon stopped on the spot, moving slowly towards the Russian. "We need to go,” he panted. Napoleon did not have time to evaluate the situation, he needed to get illya's attention and take them both to safety. 

“I should have stayed with him. I should have said something. He didn't have to die, he was just a boy.” 

“And you were younger than him. It’s okay feeling guilty but there was nothing you could have done.” He took another step forward. Napoleon was not much into psychology but he knew how to deal with pressing situations. “He saved your life and we all are grateful for that.” He was closer and planning to seize Illya's jacket when another tremor shocked the tower. Pieces of tile fell down from the roof, waking Illya from his half-conscious state. He blinked and tumbled as he looked at the darkness below him. “Don’t move! I’m here,” Napoleon held his breath, placing himself inches from the Russian.

“I hear you...,” Illya kept his eyes on the void. He was sure that the ground was somewhere down there, but not how far. He still felt like in a dream, with memories echoing in the back of his head. Through the haze, he remembered that Napoleon had disappeared; however, he was there now, trying to stop him from jumping? “How did I get here?”

“Beat me,” he smiled, stretching his hand towards Illya. “Ready to go home?” 

Illya nodded, showing that he was more than ready. He stopped only for a second when his eyes fell on something at the opposite corner. Napoleon noticed and turned, but before he could say anything, a new shake triggered the foundations of the tower and it began to crumble down. Illya lost his balance but Napoleon was already there to grab his arm and pull him away from the ledge. “This place keeps defying all understanding of logic and reality.” He shifted his weight to give his ankle a break.

“What happened to you?” Illya looked at him with surprise, noticing for the first time the torn leg of Napoleon’s pants and the blood running down into his shoe. 

“Funny story… I’ll tell you all about it when we get to the car.” His eyes fell on the pile of papers that Illya had left aside. “Dalton’s files?”

“Yes, a funny story too,” Illya smirked, putting the papers in the inner part of his jacket. “Ready?”

The staircase was almost separated from the bolts on the wall when they started to descend, and it gave way halfway down. With no more options, Napoleon and Illya jumped alongside each other and rolled over the floor. Without wasting time, they rushed to the other side of the nave, looking for the ladder towards the tunnels.

They halted right at the entrance when they realized that the ladder had disappeared. Illya crouched down to check out the tunnels. He stood up and shook his head. “There is too much dust, I think the tunnels collapsed.” Illya raised his voice to be heard through the racket of walls crashing around them.

Napoleon remembered the main door, obstructed with debris. “We need to find another exit, then.”

An idea lit Illya’s face as he remembered something all of a sudden. He handed the files to Napoleon and ran back to the sacristy. “Meet me at the main door, I’ll be right back.”

“Illya!” Napoleon tried to follow him but his bad ankle gave up on him. He stared as his friend vanished in the middle of clouds of dust and shaking floors. He put the papers in his inner pocket and limped away, dodging falling objects on his way to the main door. This had been quite an eventful mission and Napoleon could not wait to finish it. At least, they had completed it successfully, and with some luck, nothing else would go wrong.

Two minutes after that thought, Napoleon noticed an intense smell of smoke. Concerned about Illya, he turned around. The Russian was coming back in a hurry, carrying the duffel bag he had insisted on bringing with them. 

“Stay close,” he panted while he prepared wires and a dynamite cartridge. 

“Explosives?” Napoleon chuckled, watching him work. “You’re a boy scout, Illya.” 

“That’s a noble profession,” Illya grinned putting the explosive next to the door. “Take cover!” With seconds to spare, he helped Napoleon to get behind several pews turned upside down. 

  
  


**Epilogue**

Leaning on the passenger’s seat. Napoleon wet his handkerchief with water from his canteen to clean the wound in his ankle. His eyes were on the tower and the smoke coming out of the roof. Although he remembered most of what happened, there were still gaps right at the end of the incident that he trusted Illya would help to fill. “So, you set the church on fire?” 

Illya came to lean on the car, next to Napoleon. His face was stained with ashes and his voice was a little hoarse by the smoke. But he smiled satisfied when he answered the question.“Yes… I was proving a theory.” 

After a prudent time of waiting, unsuccessfully, for Illya to elaborate, Napoleon pushed the conversation forward. “I’m listening…”

“Fireworks take away the power from the spirits and make them disperse.”

“And where did you hear that?” Napoleon chuckled, trusting Illya to have an extraordinary story to tell about that.

“I read it in a book about Chinese culture.” Illya shrugged matter of factly.

“Ah, but this ghost was not Chinese,” said Napoleon cunningly.

“So, you believe in ghosts now?” Illya grinned, putting the duffel bag on the back seat. “You saw something in the tower, didn’t you?” 

Napoleon considered the question for several minutes. It was hard to admit that, for once, he did not have a rational explanation for what he had seen. However, he was reluctant to admit any paranormal activity just like that. “Perhaps… but I still don’t know what I saw. How about you?” He turned to Illya, studying him closely. Although he looked unreadable as always, Napoleon suspected that this mission had taken a heavy toll on him. “Are you okay?” 

Illya looked down, wanting to leave everything behind. He had prepared a long speech in his mind to justify his poor behavior in that church but in the long run, it was completely unbelievable. “Napoleon, what I told you about my childhood… I know we have to prepare a report but-”

“I’ll take care of that report, okay? I have forgotten most of what happened in there; especially the hellhounds,” he looked at the graveyard, wondering if the wild dogs would still be there.”It’s hard to cover every little detail.”

“Thank you,” Illya nodded with relief. The silence that followed was rather awkward, but all those damn memories had left him too exhausted.

Napoleon felt that his friend was still suffering the effects of the emotional turmoil and he needed a break from it. “Enough trying to change the subject,” he said closing the door on his side. “You set that church on fire over a theory on Chinese ghosts?”

Illya rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. “Be honest, do you see any ghost now?”

“No, but-” Napoleon smiled, watching Illya circling the car to take the driver’s seat. 

The Russian started the engine throwing just one last look at the smoking church. “You’re welcome, then.”

** _The End_ **


End file.
